Chapter 12 - The Son My Mother Never Buried
Victor was not my brother.
That would have been too easy.
Mom told me before I could accuse her.
At nineteen, she had given birth to a son.
His name was Samuel.
My grandparents forced her to surrender him for adoption.
Years later, after marrying my father, she tried to find him.
The adoption records had been altered.
Samuel had vanished.
“How old would he be?”
“Thirty-nine.”
Marcus cursed under his breath.
I understood why.
Victor was thirty-nine.
But Mom shook her head.
“I checked his DNA.”
I stared at her.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
She had suspected Victor long before I did.
He was not Samuel.
So why had Richard mentioned him?
Because he wanted us to make exactly that assumption.
Misdirection.
My father was still controlling the room.
I returned to the strip from the Bible.
Seven executives.
One scratched-out name.
I held it toward the light.
Indented writing remained beneath the ink.
Marcus photographed it and enhanced the image.
A surname emerged.
Sloane.
Victor’s father.
Suddenly the architecture changed.
Victor had not been helping Richard because he was loyal.
His father had been one of the original conspirators.
Possibly the body on the boat.
Victor had spent years close to Vance Group, close to Marcus, close to me.
Not to help my father return.
To reach him.
“He wants revenge,” Marcus said.
“Then why kidnap Daniel?”
“Because Daniel knows where Richard is.”
I called Victor.
He answered.
“Where is my father?”
“Closer than you think.”
“Is Daniel safe?”
“For now.”
“Are you working with Richard?”
Victor laughed.
“No.”
“Then why the performance?”
“Because Richard Vance has survived twenty-two years by running whenever he senses danger. I needed him to believe his plan was working.”
“You used my family as bait.”
“Yes.”
The honesty chilled me.
“You threatened my son.”
“No.”
Marcus grabbed the phone.
“You texted me.”
“That wasn’t me.”
Silence.
Victor continued.
“Marcus, check the metadata on every message I supposedly sent you.”
Marcus did.
His face drained.
The messages had been routed through Victor’s corporate account.
But created elsewhere.
Someone had been impersonating him.
Someone with Hale Axis administrator access.
Only three people had that level of permission.
Marcus.
Victor.
And Marcus’s executive assistant, Leah Grant.
I barely knew Leah.
Quiet.
Efficient.
Always invisible.
Then Mom whispered:
“Claire.”
She was staring at the christening guest list.
Leah Grant had attended.
And beside her name, under emergency contact information, was a surname I had never seen before.
Samuel Grant.
My mother sat down slowly.
“My son.”
At that exact moment, my phone received a photograph.
Leah holding Noah’s christening candle.
May you like
Behind her, written on a mirror:
MIDNIGHT. COME ALONE IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH.
